


Bedtime Lullaby

by RachelEmberLee



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bedtime, Singing, Young Cecil, lullaby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelEmberLee/pseuds/RachelEmberLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil's mother always sings him a lullaby before bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Lullaby

“Cecil! Bedtime!”

Cecil scampered inside the house, and closed the door behind himself. He toed off his shoes and dirty socks, wriggling his toes before walking to his bedroom. He passed his brother doing homework on the kitchen table before stepping through the door frame of his bedroom. His mother was already starting to hum, as she sang to him every night.

Mrs. Palmer smiled and pat the bed, and Cecil sat. She lifted a brush and started brushing his long hair, opening her mouth to sing:

_“Prayer is the bell jar_   
_You put over this goodbye_   
_I'd rather leave this embrace between you and I…”_

Cecil closed his eyes and hummed happily along, letting his mother’s voice wash over him. His mother smiled as she continued to move the brush through his hair.

_“…Let’s lock out the bearded old man in the nightgown_   
_He can tap against the glass but I'm not coming out_   
_I build bridges with these arms, I will not build a fortress_   
_In the circle 'round the kitchen table I say my ''amen'' because I feel blessed…”_

Ms. Palmer put the brush aside and Cecil slid under his covers. He snuggled his pillow, and watched his mother sing for a bit longer.

_“…Secretly hoping while we join hands you can't feel my trembling fingertips_  
 _If I sign this piece of paper do I sell my soul along with my duties?_  
 _We won't put our money where your Catholic mouth is_  
 _Even though the teeth are long gone, there's still bone beneath the gum_  
 _And there's a lot of potential in a mighty, mighty organ…”_  
  
Cecil closed his eyes as Ms. Palmer ran her fingers through her son’s hair. Cecil was drifting off now, and Mrs. Palmer smiled fondly at him. She glanced out the window, where the moon was illuminating the trees.

_“…And they told us not to clap so, we clap as loud as we can_   
_Because the reverb in these holy halls is like a long lost friend_   
_He keeps on hitting the walls and comes all the way back, back again, back, back again…”_

Ms. Palmer leaned over and kissed Cecil’s forehead. Cecil was peacefully sleeping by now. Ms. Palmer stood and went to the window to look outside.  
  
_“I want trees instead of gravestones, nothing to confess_  
 _I got a soft spot for your ancient books full of horror stories_  
 _I got a music in my head from long, long, ago and far, far away_  
 _And I still hum its tune, but how could I believe every word it says to me?”_

She saw the flickering figures in the empty lot next door. She frowned, and glanced back at Cecil. He liked to call them hooded figures, she remembered, but wasn’t sure they were hooded at all, instead something much more sinister.

  
_“We follow our own steps, while our shadows keep watching us,_  
 _The wrong step would be not to start this exodus.”_

She closed the curtains and walked over to the light switch. She cast one more glance at Cecil before turning off the light and closing the bedroom door behind herself.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in about an hour or two.  
> Inspired by a comment on the song 'Big Houses' by Squalloscope, and the song itself.


End file.
